Destroying the Mockingbird: Nathan's Story
by Dragon Gurl 88
Summary: What exactly was going through the mind of the other Radley brother (Nathan) throughout the course of all the events in the book? Please don’t flame-I don’t usually write this sorta thing! **Finally updated**
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Guess what? While voyaging through the realm of TKAM fics, I noticed something very scary indeed…there's like half a million fics on Boo, but none about Nathan (one of my favorite characters-for some reason or another **shrugs**, Boo being the other one). None! Well, I decided to do something about it, and produced this, er, product. I hope you likey!!

A/N 2: Oh right, I don't own Boo or Nathan or anyone…**sigh**

Chapter 1 

The sun shone brightly through my window. I shielded my eyes, not used to the blinding light. I sighed, closing the window. Arthur must have run around the house, opening all our windows again. Why did he do it? Why does he do anything he does? 'Because he's a psychopath,' I thought, answering my own question.

I walked down the hallway, my head down. I could hear Arthur downstairs. When I looked in the mirror, I actually gasped. I was literally turning into him. My complexion was as white as a ghost. My dark, rust-colored hair (which, by the way, had been graying significantly since I had come back home) was greasy and matted. And my body, which had once been muscular and strong, was now skinny and weak. When I took my shirt off, I could count my ribs. It was disgusting, really. 

I wasn't always like this, weak and completely depressed. I had had a good life once; after I turned twenty-one, I moved to Pensacola and left my peculiar family and past behind. I wasn't really fond of Pensacola itself. It was really just one large slum, dirty and disgusting; I remember having to share my apartment with over a hundred rats, cockroaches, and various other creatures. However, in Pensacola, I was actually Nathan Radley, not just the "freak's brother". I had friends there, something I had never really had in Maycomb in my childhood, since most of it was spent babysitting Arthur. And, actually, I did get married, although that didn't turn out so well. My life was actually looking pretty good, and I thought I might have a shot at a normal life. Then my father died. 

I remember when I first learned my father was dying. I was summoned from Pensacola early in the morning. Wooden horses were placed at either end of our lot, straw was scattered in our yard, and traffic was blocked from the street. The local doctor, Dr. Reynolds, had his car parked in front of our neighbors, the Finches. That's how scared people are of my brother-they can't even park their cars in front of our house. 

Anyway, I walked up to my parents' room, where the doctor was standing over my father, who was laying in his bed, looking as weak as about ten Arthurs. My mother was sitting in a chair next to the bed, and the insane Radley was sitting in the corner, cutting a newspaper and muttering to himself. I nodded a greeting to each of them and asked the doctor, "What's wrong with him?", referring to my father.

"Heart complications, Mr. Nathan. He doesn't look like he has much time left," replied Dr. Reynolds. I nodded. 

After a short while, Dr. Reynolds left, and Mother went downstairs to fix supper for the three of us. I didn't think Father was awake because of the blank look on his face, so I turned to Arthur. "You did this, you know," I muttered coldly. "It all started when you cut him, no, when you were put on trial…"

Arthur looked up at me with animalistic eyes. "Shut up, you bastard," he whispered, looking back down at his newspaper. 

"Mouthing off to your older brother, are you?" I asked, sneering. "Well, when Father dies, guess who'll be coming down here to take his place and watch you." Arthur mumbled something sarcastic under his breath, and continued cutting. I never understood his interest in cutting up the paper, but then again, there were a lot of things about my family, especially Arthur, that I never understood. As a matter of fact, I don't think I wanted to understand them.

I stayed at the house for the next couple days. Throughout these days, I traveled back to Pensacola to gather all my belongings and also put my apartment up for sale. I knew I would be staying here for longer than I planned. The rest of my life. 

A few days later, I was alone with Father, tidying up his room. He was watching my every move intently. I calmly dusted around the windowsill, glancing at my father every so often. Just as I was about to leave, I heard a strange, raspy voice that sounded similar to Father's. It was Father, actually, but he was very sick. "M-My son," he breathed. I walked from the door to the bed. 

"Yes, Father?" I asked. He looked as if he was going to tell me something important, but just then, his eyes became wide, and he started to shake. I wanted to get my mother but was afraid to leave him. Father just kept on shaking. Finally, he stopped, a blank look on his leathery face. My father was dead; I had watched him die. 

I called to Mother. She would certainly want to know that her husband had died. Upon coming in the room, she screamed, seeing the dead body. I did nothing but look at him. I still couldn't believe he was dead. After hearing our mother's scream, Arthur raced up to the bedroom, scissors still in hand. He stared at our father, and then asked me, "He's dead, isn't he?"

I looked at my brother strangely. Not only was he a mental case, but apparently an idiot as well. "Well of course he's dead, jackass," I replied sinisterly. Arthur looked at me with surprise, and I realized it. I had been so infuriated, first at having to move back here, then at losing my father, and finally at Arthur, that I hadn't realized I had cursed in front of my mother, a lady. 

"Nathan…" she simply said quietly, almost sternly. I rolled my eyes and was about to remind her I was no longer a child, but decided against it. 

I went downstairs and called Dr. Reynolds, who hurried over. Soon, an ambulance was in front of the house, and my father was being carried out in a body bag. I stood on the porch, watching, with my mother, trying to comfort her. Arthur watched from the living room; he hadn't come out for so long, why would he bother now? Our neighbors gathered in their yards, watching with a feeling I can't even pinpoint. Somewhere between fear, suspicion, and apprehensiveness. 'That's right,' I thought, glancing at the Finch children and their Negro housekeeper, who were no doubt talking slander about my father. 'Old sinister Mr. Radley has finally died, and his clone of a son has come to take his place.'

Let me just tell you, I didn't ask nor want to be like my father. Growing up, I couldn't stand the man. However, after the divorce, I just gradually changed into him. I still can't figure out exactly why. I guess, after I divorced her, I thought that being my own person would have disastrous effects on me. So I took after the only man I knew how. My father. And I hate myself for it. 

As you already probably know, Maycomb is a very small town. The phrase "When one person gets a cold, the whole town coughs" had to have originated here. As you can probably guess, all of Maycomb grieves when someone dies, all of Maycomb attends the deceased person's funeral, and all of Maycomb shows pity towards the deceased's family. But, we're talking about a Radley now, so none of these rules apply. 

About half the town came to my father's funeral, Negroes too. What should have surprised me (but didn't really) was that these people my father had hardly known in his life attended his funeral and burial, and yet, his own son couldn't even get his reclusive, insane self out of the house to come. Even though they came to the funeral, however, few people actually gave my mother and me words of sympathy. Of course, one of them was Atticus Finch. 

__

He came up to me shortly after the service ended. "I'm sorry to hear about your loss, Nathan," said Atticus. "Your father was a" -he struggled for words- "great…man."

'Don't lie, Atticus,' I wanted to say. 'I know my father was almost as strange and reclusive as my brother. The whole town knows it.' Instead, I replied, "Thank you. It was sad to see him go…"

"Yeah. Er… where's Arthur?" asked Atticus. 

I breathed hard. I couldn't get mad at him; after all, the man was just asking an innocent question. "He's…at home. Wasn't feeling well," I said shortly. 

"I see. Well, I'm going to go talk to your mother. Good-bye, Nathan," he said, finishing our awkward conversation. 

"Good-bye," I said after him. 

Mother and I arrived home very late that night, however, Arthur was still awake, rereading Oliver Twist for the thousandth time. He always loved Charles Dickens, I never understood why. 

I could hardly sleep that night. For some reason, I heard clawing across the hallway. Arthur. Anyway, it wasn't completely the scratching that was keeping me awake. I realized what my life now was. I now had to take care of both my disturbed brother and aging mother. I was now the head of the house. I was the new Mr. Radley. 

I bolted upright. It couldn't be…I wasn't my father, was I? I turned and looked into the mirror. But what I saw wasn't myself, but a duplicate of my father, only with slightly lighter hair. I stared at the man in the mirror with fear, as a strong realization came into place in my head. I had turned into a perfect copy of my father. He lived on. In me. 

I blinked back to reality. I slammed the bathroom door behind me, and returned to my room to get dressed. I then walked downstairs, where Arthur was reading the paper…from a month ago. Usually if they were that old, he would have torn them to shreds by now. But no, he was actually sitting there, reading it like a halfway normal human being. 

As I crossed the living room, I stopped at our huge fireplace which we hadn't used since Arthur and I were little. It was dirty, covered in soot and ash. I glanced above the fireplace and saw the huge portrait of the four of us. We had it painted when I was eleven and Arthur was nine. I looked over each of our faces. Father, much younger and as healthy-looking as I think he ever was. He isn't smiling, and his ice-blue eyes cut into the viewer of the picture like daggers. His jet-black hair is combed back fancily, and you can tell he is one of the coldest, sternest men that Maycomb has ever seen. 

Next to him was Mother. She looks very beautiful in the picture, her dark hair is pulled up, and she is wearing a fancy white dress and matching lacy hat. She has her hand against Father's arm and is smiling in the way only a mother can. I glanced towards the stairs. She was upstairs, sleeping late, as usual. She had always been sick, like all of us, but ever since Father died, she had been growing progressively worse. She didn't come out of bed very often since a few weeks ago. 

I am sitting in front of my father, and Arthur is next to me. My hair is flat for the most part; I remember trying all morning before the picture to get my hair to stop sticking up, which it refused to do. I am smiling a little bit, actually, it is more a smirk than a smile. I look a lot older than eleven. 

Finally, next to me, is Arthur. He was, for the most part, normal back then. In the portrait, his blonde hair is combed, a lot neater than mine. He is grinning, his round baby face covered in freckles, and you can see a lot of spirit in his gray-blue eyes. I remember he was always so full of energy as a child. He always wanted to run around or play kick the can or go swim in the creek or something. I turned and looked at the specimen on the couch. No way were the two the same person. 

Just then, Arthur saw I was looking at the portrait and spoke, "Yeah, I always hated that picture. It didn't come out the way I thought it would. I look too young." We looked at each other uncertainly for a few moments, and I went into the kitchen. Another day had begun. 

~*~Well, there's Chapter 1...I'm sorry-I know it was kinda boring…it gets more exciting later on when more stuff happens…Anyway, review if you like and I'll post Chapter 2 ASAP~*~


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

A/N: OK, so I finally decided to update this story since I had writer's block for my other ones…I own nothing except some of the twisted little thoughts in Nathan's head :^)

A/N 2: If anyone knows what Nathan's job was, could you please tell me in a review? I know it said he "bought cotton" or something, but I wasn't really clear on the meaning.

A/N 3: Never read The Grapes of Wrath--It's a stupid book (Has nothing to do with the story but it's true)

~~~

At about noon, I began to get ready for my daily trip to town. Mother had come down for a little while, mainly to eat breakfast, but now she was resting upstairs. Arthur sat in the living room carving God-knows-what from a piece of wood. 

I put my key in my pocket and made my way to the door. I stopped before opening it, however, and turned to Arthur. "I'll be back in an hour or so," I told him. "Stay in here."

"I know," he muttered, his helpless gray eyes glaring at me. 

"I'm done with the paper, if you-uh-want it," I added. 

He nodded, and the door opened with a creak. I stepped outside; the sun was shining brightly overhead. I walked off the porch and out of our front yard. 

As I made my way onto the street, I heard voices. Children's voices, coming from the Finches' yard. 

"Jem--put the scissors away--he's coming!"

"Ssh, Scout, not so loud, he'll hear ya."

I glanced across the street at the children. Jem, the oldest, seemed to be trying to hide something while Scout, his younger sister, and Dill, their friend, exchanged anxious looks and snuck glances at me. They were whispering about something. 

As I was walking in front of the Finch house, I heard Scout's youthful voice. "Hello, Mr. Radley," she said. 

I turned around and saw the three children sitting on the Finches' porch. Jem had something behind his back. "'Morning Scout, Jem, Dill," I replied, nodding to each of them, making an attempt to be nice. "What're you children up to today?" I asked. 

"We were just playing B-er-we were just…playing," said Dill shakily.

Jem gave him a dirty look, then said, "Uh, well, I think I hear Calpurnia callin' us in for lunch…"

"I don't hear any-ow, Jem," said Scout, after her brother kicked her lightly. "Why'd you-" she began, then glanced up at me. "Oh."

Jem gave a nervous laugh and then said, "Well, we'd better get goin'--see ya, Mr. Radley!" And with that, the three children rushed into the house. I saw that Jem was concealing a pair of scissors behind his back. 

I returned on my way to town. I was puzzled by the children's behavior today. Usually, Jem and Scout, like their father, were much friendlier to me than most of Maycomb. But today, they had been jumpy and nervous, and the fact that they had been hiding a pair of scissors from me was peculiar, also. And if I, the brother of Arthur Radley, thought something was peculiar, then it must have been beyond belief to others. 

Soon, I was in downtown Maycomb, which looked more like a suburban area of Chicago. There were a few stores, two restaurants, the jail, the courthouse, the town hall, and some other buildings. One thing we didn't have here was a theater, which I would have liked. For a few cents, I could spend about three hours forgetting about my family and home. 

I spent about an hour and a half downtown. I bought a magazine and stopped for a quick lunch in the diner. As I was returning home, my thoughts wandered back to the Finch children and what they were doing. I told myself to let it go, that it was just kids acting strange, that I was obsessing over it, but I couldn't help but feel that something was out of the ordinary. I mean, hiding a pair of scissors…

Then it hit me like a five-pound bag of potatoes. I couldn't believe that I hadn't figured it out sooner (I guess living with Arthur for so long had somehow effected my brain). They were acting out our family's history, namely my brother's history. 

All the pieces of the puzzle seemed to fit together then. They had the scissors because that's what Arthur had stabbed our father with. And I was willing to bet my life savings on the fact that the stabbing wasn't the only part of Radley history that they were mocking. There was the trial, the imprisonment, the list went on and on. Fortunately, I wasn't that big a part of Arthur's life at that time or ever, so I wasn't being imitated directly, but still, this _was_ my family. 

I didn't know whether to say something to Atticus or just let it go. My gut told me to let him know about this, but I wasn't fully sure that they were imitating us. This whole event was bringing back memories I thought I would never have to face again. 

The memories of Arthur's trial danced scornfully around inside my head. The trial took place over two days, but I only went the last day. Our parents went both days, however. 

The last day was painful. I remember watching Arthur make his way to the front of the courthouse, his grayish-blue eyes full of poison. Mother was crying softly on Father's shoulder. I remember her muttering, wondering where she went wrong with Arthur (after all, at that time, I was considered the "good son"), asking God to help her son. Father showed no emotion whatsoever. He just glared at Arthur, not saying anything. I was just _there_. I don't remember feeling good, bad, anything. I just watched the trial as if it was a movie, and I was void of all feeling. 

The trial seemed to take forever. It was terribly hot in the courthouse, and I was so very tired by the end of it. Eventually, though, the judge decided to send Arthur and the rest of the gang to an industrial school. Personally, I was a little glad about this. Arthur would be out of my way for a while, and by the time he returned, I would probably have moved out.

My father, on the other hand, was a different story. As soon as Arthur's punishment was said, he stood up. Mother jumped a little bit, and I rolled my eyes, as did Arthur. Here it went. 

"Your honor," said Father, as everyone in the courtroom stared at him. "I do not agree with Arthur's punishment."

"Why not, Mr. Radley?" asked the judge, a little impatient. "Everyone else in this courtroom, including myself, seems to think that this is a fair and just punishment for the crime these boys did."

"For Christ's sake, Father, just let Arthur go to the damn school," I muttered. 

"Shut the hell up," Father hissed at me. "Your honor, I see it as an embarrassment to Arthur and to the family name…"

"Would you rather him go to prison?" retorted the judge. 

"Well, no, but…" Father struggled to think of something. "But if you let Arthur go, then I would make sure he never did anything of this nature ever again."

The judge thought for a moment. "If it was anyone else but you, Radley, I would decline, but I trust that you'd never go back on your word. So it's settled. Arthur will be released, providing he never does anything of this sort again." My father nodded. Arthur looked positively repulsed when he was to return home. If I were him, I would have rather gone to the school, too. 

The car ride home was dead silent. Arthur had a mournful look in his eyes the whole time. It was then I decided to move to Pensacola. 

A couple days after the trial, I got my parents and Arthur together to tell them that I was leaving. They didn't exactly take it as well as I wanted them to. 

"You're _what_?" exclaimed my father once I had told him. 

"Moving. To Pensacola…it's only about an hour or so away. One of my friend's brothers is selling an apartment there, so I already got a discount and…" my excitement died upon seeing the looks on my parents' faces. "What?" I asked. 

"Do you really think that it's right to move _now_?" asked Mother. "I mean, right after Arthur's trial and everything?"

"Well, yeah, I mean, you won't really be needing me anymore," I replied. 

Father had been pretty calm through this whole thing, well, calm for him at least, until he spoke then. "You're not going," he said simply. 

"What do you mean I'm not-" I started. 

"You won't be moving," said Father. "We need you more than ever, what with Arthur and-"

This time, I interrupted him. "And what do I care about Arthur? His trial's all done, what do you expect me to do now?" Father was about to say something, but I cut him off. "What, do you want me to watch him now?" Father and Mother looked at each other. "That's it, isn't it?" I asked. 

"Well, we just thought that since we promised that Arthur would stay out of trouble, you could-" started Mother. 

"Watch him?" I asked, finishing her sentence. That was it, I knew. Well, I wasn't going to be tied down by this family anymore. "I am not going to baby-sit Arthur anymore," I said. "From the day he took his first steps, you both had me watching him every single day, and I'm downright sick of it. _I _was the one who wanted him to go to the school…I thought that you two would've wanted that too. But no, Father, the family name is just so damn important to you that God forbid anything happens to it or anyone from the family does something against your wishes. Well, I don't care what you say, I'm moving out. I'm twenty-one years old and legally, I'm not in your custody anymore. Neither's Arthur, but apparently, he likes obeying you like a dog. But I don't, so I'm moving. End of story."

And with that, I strode swiftly towards the door. I already had a suitcase with all of my belongings in it. Father got up from the couch and started for me; I knew he was going to do something physical, so I had packed the suitcase beforehand. However, he moved much faster than I expected him to, and was nearing me quickly. I was not in any mood to fight him off, but luckily Arthur was. Before Father knew what was happening, Arthur leaped off the couch and punched my father hard, right in the face. Father fell to the ground, and Mother let out a shriek. Arthur looked up at me and said, with a strange smile. "Bye, Nathan."

"Bye, Arthur," I replied, opening the door. I slammed it, but then stuck my head back in. "I'm takin' the car, too," I called, over my father's cursing and my mother's shrieking. And with another firm slam of the door, I was gone. 

I know I probably should regret that day, but, to tell you the truth, it was one of the few things I admire myself for doing. 

~~~

I had arrived back at my house. Jem, Scout, and Dill were still outside, and, once again, they hid the scissors as I walked by. I did not speak to them, however. 

When I got in the house, I found my mother knitting, and Arthur, on the floor, listening to the radio and cutting up this morning's paper. "H'lo," I mumbled to each of them, and I sat down next to Mother and began to read my magazine. I was still thinking about how the children were imitating, even mocking us. They weren't doing it deliberately, at least I thought they weren't, but it still hurt all the same. Their role-playing had opened up my wounds that I had thought were healed, but apparently weren't. 

The next day, right before I left on my trip to town, I saw Atticus take the scissors away from the children. It made me feel a little better than before. 


End file.
